if the right one came along
by BerryliciousCheerio
Summary: sometimes love is a beautiful thing / (or: the author dumps all of her tumblr prompts into one fic)
1. burn like coal

**this was the drabble that inspired 'she fell beneath the wheels to help me up'**  
**~the more you know~**

**"Hello. #7 skimmons, please? (Preferably, Skye saying it). You're awesome and I hope you have a great day."**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**the one where jemma gets injured**

* * *

**...**

* * *

The med pod bed is narrow, but you manage to squeeze in with Jemma, holding her hand and trying hard not to jostle her or the stitches that are currently holding her chest together, where the bullet ripped her apart.

You tuck your face into her shoulder, so grateful, and the words sort of tumble out before you can get a hold of them. "I almost lost you," you breathe. "I can't—." Your voice breaks. "I can't imagine—."

She shushes you gently, rubbing her thumb over your knuckles. "Guess we're even now, yeah? You got shot, I got shot…"

"Maybe let's try not to get shot anymore."

"Yeah, I've heard it's not a great date idea."

You giggle into her shoulder, and the world seems good again.


	2. i call it magic when i'm with you

**this will probably end up in the hp!skimmons au i'm writing**

**who knows**

**"skimmons + "you want me to do what?""**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**the one where they're students at hogwarts**

* * *

**...**

* * *

"You want me to do _what_?"

Skye eyes her wand as if it's a snake. A poisonous, deadly snake. Jemma can't be serious.

"I mean—," Jemma huffs. "You'll never get any better unless you practice."

"I'm not going to levitate you, Jem," Skye sighs, nudging her wand.

Her girlfriend makes a face. "This is the one spell you've not yet mastered," Jemma explains patiently. "You need to know this." She hesitates for a moment, and then asks, "What's really wrong?"

So many things. So many, many things. Namely that her fantastic, wonderful girlfriend has obviously forgotten the vast amount of dropped books and cracked tumblers from their early days at Hogwarts, when Skye still thought it was a good idea to practice charms on things heavier than a feather.

"What if I drop you?" Skye blurts out. "Or send you too high and you hit your head on the ceiling?" She picks at the edge of her thumb, wincing when a bead of blood appears.

Jemma makes a disapproving noise, frowning as she leans across the table to take Skye's hands in her own. "I trust you," she says earnestly. "Love, I trust you more than anyone."

She's honestly too sweet. Skye knows that she's too good for her. So she stands, taking her hands away from Jemma briefly as she walks around to her side of the table and throwing a leg over her lap, straddling her. She cradles Jemma's face in her hands, kissing her softly. "You're grossly sweet, you know?" Skye grins, kissing Jemma's nose.

"Well, I mean—," Jemma stutters, cheeks pink, hands coming to rest on Skye's hips out of instinct. Skye plays with Jemma's tie, loosening it a little at a time.

Which is about when Jemma catches on.

"_Oh._ Oh, no you don't," Jemma exclaims, smacking at Skye's hands. "You can't just kiss me to get out of school work!"

"Can I kiss you because I love you?" Skye asks innocently, smiling sweetly.

"Cheeky," Jemma warns, though she doesn't push Skye off of her lap. In fact, her hands move to Skye's thighs, rucking up her skirt as they slide over Skye's skin.

Skye grins.

_Score._

"I'll levitate you in an hour?" Skye offers, giggling when Jemma blows a raspberry on her neck, grumbling intelligibly.


	3. shake the glitter off your clothes, now

**this was so fun to write omg**

**"Skimmons - "Could you repeat that?""**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**the one where they accidentally end up in vegas**

* * *

**...**

* * *

"Uh—" Phil stammers. "Could—uh. Could you repeat that?"

"Well, sir," Simmons murmurs. "It would seem that Skye and I got a tiny bit intoxicated while on leave and—."

From somewhere behind her, Skye yells, "We got hitched and now we're stranded here!"

Phil rubs his forehead, waves May over. This isn't the phone call he could have ever anticipated.

"Where is here, exactly?" he asks, dreading the answer.

"Ah—Vegas, sir," Simmons answers slowly. "Las Vegas."

"I thought you guys were going to Disneyland?" How the hell did they go from Anaheim to Vegas? And where did all their money go? He pulls away from the phone for a minute and whispers to May, "Can you pick them up?" She nods slowly, lips quirking up a little. _Well_, he thinks. _I'm glad someone's amused by this._

"We—ah. We were. But the Haunted House was closed? And Nevada is really, very close—."

He doesn't need details. He really doesn't.

"May's coming for you," Phil says, cutting off Simmons's nervous rambling. "She'll be there in a few hours, so—um. Stay put."

"Yes," Simmons sighs in relief. "Of course. We're staying at the—Skye? Where are we staying?"

They must have been so drunk. So very, very drunk. Phil bites back a groan. "Uh—Simmons? Just call May with the details. And—uh—congratulations."

**/**

"Well," Jemma says, padding back to join Skye in bed. "He took the news rather well, considering."

When she nears, Skye reaches out to tug her in by the hand. "You know he's just a little sad he didn't get to plan the wedding," she mumbles into the pillow her face is currently smushed into. "He'll get over it."

Jemma tucks herself against Skye once again, tossing an arm lazily over her wife—_wife_'s waist. "I think he was just shocked, really," she murmurs, leaning in to kiss the corner of Skye's mouth. "May's on her way," she adds when she leans back, settling against her own pillow.

"Mmph," Skye mumbles. "How long?"

"A few hours," Jemma slides her knee between Skye's legs, cuddling closer. "Is your hangover very bad?"

Skye blinks rapidly. "Not very," she says in a rush, leaning in to kiss Jemma, hands slipping under her shirt.

"Then would you mind explaining how you traded our plane tickets for two Elvis impersonators?" Jemma raises her eyebrows, leaning back as Skye nears her lips.

"We were drunk," Skye mumbles in lieu of an explanation. "Shit happens."

"Skye—we're stranded in Las Vegas."

"Sex first," Skye mutters. "Lecture later."

"Now those are terms that Jemma can agree with.


	4. head's in the game (heart's in the song)

**skimmons "i've got one word for you: sing-along!"**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**the one where jemma's never seen high school musical**

* * *

**...**

* * *

"Oh," Jemma says, peering over Skye's shoulder at the March Madness brackets she's filling in. "What team is that?" she asks, pointing to the scrawl on the inner bracket.

Skye freezes. There's no way.

"What'd you say?" she asks innocently, cocking her head to the side and stilling her hands.

Jemma leans over, rests her chin on Skye's head. "I said-," she huffs goodnaturedly. "What team-?"

"_WILDCATS!_"

Skye knows who had a _real_ life on the team, from the way their heads snap up in recognition, grins wide and bright as they yell back, "_GETCHA HEAD IN THE GAME_!"

"What on earth?!" Jemma shrieks, jumping away and clapping her hands over her mouth. She takes a few deep breaths, smacking Skye on the shoulder when she sees the other woman doubled over with laughter.

"Have you-," Skye gasps, wiping at her eyes. "Have you never seen High School Musical?"

From across the room, Bobbi yells, "You're missing out, Simmons."

By the time Skye stops laughing so hard, Jemma's pouting, arms crossed over her chest. "Just because I haven't seen some film about high school-."

"It's an American classic," Skye tells her. "Absolute requirement for being on the team."

"Fitz hasn't watched it!" Jemma insists, pointing to Fitz-or, rather, the back of Fitz's head, as he's currently engrossed in trying to beat Mack's record on Red Dead Redemption.

"Ah-," he interrupts. "I actually have."

Jemma kind of looks like she's just been betrayed in the most severe manner. "Leopold," she gasps. "_When_?"

He waves her off, too busy in responding to Mack's smack talk. Jemma shoots Skye a look when she snorts.

"Okay, okay," Skye laughs. "Alright. We'll fix this, don't worry-."

"I'm not worried-."

"You're obviously very worried," Skye tells her. "But don't be."

The rest of team begins to ignore them again, returning to their individual tasks, and Skye grins mischievously. "Skye..." Jemma sighs. "What are you planning?"

"I've got one word for you," Skye grins even wider, looking absolutely delighted as she sings, "Sing-along!"

**/**

This was a terrible mistake. Jemma's finally learned the words, and is now insisting on rewatching the trilogy. Skye doesn't think she's ever regretted anything so immediately.

"C'mon Skye, aren't we all in this together?" Jemma ribs, poking her nearly comatose girlfriend in the side.

"J'mema," Skye mumbles, swatting her hands away. "It's like two am."

"Who got me into this?" Jemma asks playfully, far too awake for the late-early?-hour. "Hm?"

Skye snuggles against Jemma, burying her face in her hair. "'m so tired."

"Oh," Jemma tuts. "I think you just need to get your head in the game."

"This was a _mistake_.

**/**

(it takes about half of the first movie's encore for skye to convince jemma to come to bed with her. she sings the entire way back to their room, and skye only hates it a little)


	5. think we kissed (but i forgot)

**Skimmons "I'm sorry I kissed you, but that guy over there was checking me out and I wanted him to stop."**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**the one where skye's probably going to get murdered and jemma's conveniently located**

* * *

**...**

* * *

Skye's probably about to get murdered. Like—legitimately murdered. And it's all Grant's fault.

Well—like, he's not the one about to murder her, nor is there really any way for him to know that she would come to a club alone, but he was the one that said he was too tired to go out with her, which led her to come to Icer on her own, which led to her being ogled by a guy that was definitely a serial killer.

God. She's going to inspire an episode of Criminal Minds, isn't she?

He's been staring at her for, like, a century, and the club is busy, thrumming with energy, enough people to drown her out if she screamed. Jesus. Of all the ways to go.

As his eyes make what has to be the twentieth trip up and down her body, Skye starts to panic and scan for escape routes. When she glances back, Stalker Boy is making his way to her.

Haha. _Shit_.

Someone bumps into her elbow, bouncing up to the bar and asking for whatever is on tap. Skye takes one last desperate look around, and then—

"Hey, just go with this?" she half yells above the crowd, spinning around and kissing the first pair of lips she sees.

Which are very soft.

Shit.

She figures out that her savior is a girl, mainly from the way that her hips curve into her waist and also _boobs_, pressed against Skye, who's probably drawing this out too long.

Drawing back hastily, Skye chances a look over her shoulder in the direction that Stalker Boy was coming from, and she sees him, shoulders slumped in defeat, so god bless that.

She turns back to her Mystery Girl, who's standing shell shocked, hands frozen in the air in front of her. Maybe this wasn't the best plan?

"Oh my god," Skye grimaces. "I'm so sorry."

Mystery Girl's mouth opens and closes silently, her eyes wide.

"I'm so, so sorry," Skye yells. "I shouldn't have kissed you like that, but there was this really creepy guy? And he's been staring at me all night and I just wanted him to leave me alone, you know? Oh god, I'm so—."

Mystery Girl surges forward suddenly, no longer frozen, and her hands are on Skye's hips, and yeah, yep, her lips are really very soft, and her lipgloss tastes like raspberries?

Oh my god.

When Mystery Girl pulls away, it's Skye's turn to freeze, dumbstruck. "We're even now?" Mystery Girl laughs nervously, and wow, yeah, that's a British accent and Skye's super gay.

"Heh," Skye manages to choke out. "Yeah."

"Are you-?" Mystery Girl starts, concern in her eyes. "Are you okay? Oh, goodness—do you not like girls?"

"No!" Skye shouts, the tequila shots she did earlier coming at her with a vengeance. "No—I mean—yes, I do like girls, I just-?" She struggles for words, mind still stuck on those lips and how her heart pounded and—"I just wasn't expecting you to reacting like that?"

Mystery Girls runs a hand through her hair, blushing, from what Skye can tell in the dim lighting of the club. "Well, I—I suppose I wasn't expecting to react like that, either. But—ah, not every day that you're kissed by a pretty girl." She offers Skye a shy smile

Wow. Yeah. This is turning out to be a great night. Skye silently thanks Grant for being an eighty year old at heart.

"I—uh. I'm Skye," she says, toying with the ends of her hair.

"Jemma," Mystery Girl responds, smiling wider. "Can I buy you a drink?"


	6. red lip, classic

**""The skirt is short on purpose." Skimmons :)"**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**the one where there's a scheduled date night**

* * *

**...**

* * *

"Skye," Jemma calls from the bathroom, the light spilling out over the carpet. "Have you seen my necklace?"

From across the room, where Skye's currently staring at her closet with utter confusion—she has to have _something_ to wear, right?—she calls back, "Which one?"

"Oh! The one you gave me for my birthday?"

She looks around the bedroom once, twice, eyes sweeping over the small space before she spots the pendant on the dresser. "It's in here," she says, turning back to the closet. "What are you wearing tonight?"

God they're so old. They have scheduled date nights. They're like—_old_. That might possibly be Skye's fault, really, since she missed three dates in a row due to missions, so now—well.

Whatever. She gets to go out with her fantastic girlfriend and make old white guys uncomfortable, so scheduled date nights are fine. She fishes out a dress from the back.

"Well," Jemma says, coming out of the bathroom and padding closer. "You can just see?"

Skye turns, dress in hand and wow, yeah, that's—

"Oh, jesus," she stutters.

It's a very, very short skirt. A very short, leather skirt? Skye's not sure she's still breathing, because Jemma's legs look very long and her hand is on her hip, jutting out to one side, and yeah, wow, they haven't had sex in, like, a month, and this is a look she could get used to, Skye thinks.

Holy shit.

"Do you like it?" her girlfriend grins, twirling, and yeah, it's doing great things for her from all angles and Skye's really aware of the fact that she's still just in her underwear, so it'd be really easy to take that off and—

"Uh—," she stammers, staring. "Yeah." She gulps. "It's—uh. Very short."

Jemma pads forward–no, she _saunters_, hips swinging, and Skye's not sure if she's ever felt like this? She's not sure if she's breathing.

"The skirt's short on purpose," Jemma breathes, reaching Skye and leaning up, looping her arms around her neck. She kisses her, tantalizingly slow and—

well, that's when the earthquake starts.

"Oh," Jemma hisses, springing back. "Oh damn!"

"Oh my god," Skye balls her hands into fists. "Oh my fucking god."

"Deep breaths!" Jemma tells her, running into the bathroom and coming back out in a robe. "There—is that—is it better, now?"

The rumbling stills. "Oh my god," Skye repeats. "Shit, I'm sorry."

"No, no," Jemma insists, coming back to her, hands gentle on her arms. "It's my fault—it was stupid of me to pull this."

"I mean—," Skye smirks. "That skirt is a lot of things, but it is definitely not stupid."

"You're ridiculous!" Jemma checks her over for injuries, admonishing as she goes. "You just lost control for the first time in years, and you're still thinking about the skirt?"

Skye drops her forehead to Jemma's shoulder, mumbles, "It's a very memorable skirt." She kisses her girlfriend's shoulder gently, the bare skin smooth and warm, and it's been a very, very long month. When Jemma's satisfied that there are no major injuries, she steps back, and, for a moment, the two women stare at each other, a bit in shock from what's transpired.

That's when Skye notices the red lipstick, the carefully straightened hair. "Were you—?" Jemma blushes. "Oh my god," Skye breathes. "You were trying to seduce me."

"I—" Jemma stammers. "I am offended that you would even—I don't need to seduce—that is rude!"

"You totally were!" Skye laughs, dancing away and pointing at her girlfriend. Is she acting like a child? Yes. Does she care right now? No. "You were trying to seduce me!" she sings.

"I—" Jemma huffs, placing her hands on her hips and pouting. The robe falls open a little, and normally Skye would totally be distracted, but this is too rich, honestly, just too rich. "I just wanted to do something nice!" she cries, throwing her hands up in the air. "You've been away so much, and even when you're here, half the time I'm in the lab—." She starts to pace, biting at her nails in agitation and Skye manages to beat back enough of her laughter to feel bad.

"Hey," Skye catches her by the arm on one of her loops. "This was really sweet. Grossly sweet."

"Are you calling me gross?"

"Always," Skye kisses Jemma's nose, which she scrunches up in a grossly adorable manner. "You're the grossest, sweetest, hottest girlfriend that a girl could ask for." Jemma grins—leans up and kisses her soundly, smiling into it.

Jemma breaks the kiss, leaning back. "Alright. Our reservation is in an hour, so we need to get changed."

"I mean—," Skye spins away, back towards the closet. "Just because I _know_ about the seduction doesn't necessarily mean it will be less effective." She hides her face, grinning as she shuffles through her side of the closet. "Just saying."

From somewhere behind her, Skye hears a laugh.


	7. can't take the heat

**"skimmons + "i'm 75% sure this won't explode on us""**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**the one with disastrous cooking**

* * *

**...**

* * *

"Oh, relax," Skye huffs. "I'm, like, seventy five percent sure this won't explode on us."

Jemma snorts. "You say as you shield yourself."

"It's just a souffle."

"But you used alien ingredients. Why did you use alien ingredients?"

The creation bubbles—roils and whistles, and Skye jumps back, almost hiding behind Jemma when she reaches her. "I thought they were normal," she whispers. "Until it started to whistle."

"You were going to feed me that?" Jemma laughs, twisting to give Skye an incredulous look.

"Oh, like you can cook any better!"

"Well at least I don't mix up _alien_ ingredients and _regular_ ingredients!"

The souffle swells. Moves over the edges of the ramekin, crawling across the counter.

"Should—ah—?" Jemma stumbles back, shoving Skye back with her, towards the doorway of the kitchen. "Should we call May?"

That's when the souffle explodes, scattering pieces of itself across the room. Each smaller piece begins to move of its own accord, crawling along walls, the floor, chairs—one piece crawls sluggishly along Jemma shoulder.

"_Shit!_" Skye shrieks, flicking the souffle baby off of her girlfriend's shoulder. She grabs her hand, tugs her out the door. The souffle creatures roar behind them.

"_MAY_!"


	8. when you were gone, i'd think of you

**"Who wouldn't be angry you ate all of my cereal and faked your death for three years!" Skimmons"**

**(here is some background info: basically normal verse, except shield is basically just a superhero organization, hydra is supervillain hq, skye's a superhero called quake, and jemma is the scientist she fell in love with; they're gross, it's great, i might write more for this)**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**the one where skye's a "dead" superhero**

* * *

**...**

* * *

"Jesus christ!" Skye ducks the throw pillow. And the mug, shattering on the wall behind her. "This wasn't really the homecoming I was expecting."

"What the hell were you expecting?" Jemma yells, looking around for something else to hurl, hands shaking. "A parade? A cake? A goddamn surprise party?" She throws a magazine next, her aim curving to the far left, but Skye ducks just the same.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me?" Skye moves to stand behind the kitchen island, full intents to use it as a shield if it was so needed. "But you just seem really angry, so maybe I should go—?"

"Who wouldn't be angry?" Jemma stalks towards her, balling her hands into fists. "You ate all of my cereal," she starts to cry. "And faked your death for three years!"

And she's sobbing now, and Skye feels like actual shit. Everything she thought was a good decision three years ago, when Hydra made a direct threat against Jemma and everything felt like it was falling apart, the world coming down around her—now it all seems like the biggest mistake she could have ever made.

Time to abandon the island shield, she thinks. "Oh, god, Jem," Skye breathes, coming round to Jemma carefully, slowly. "I thought I—I was just trying to keep you safe."

"Why?" Jemma backs away, crossing her arms over her chest, defensive. Skye's heart twists. "You made it very clear you didn't care about me before you—you—." Her words get swallowed by a sob, her shoulders shaking, but when Skye tries to hold her, she flinches away.

Pulling back, Skye tries to explain. "When-back then, when we were getting closer—I don't know how, but Hydra found out. I was too big of a threat to them, so they started, uh—they followed you and starting sending me surveillance pictures." She pauses, looking down at her feet. This sounds so weak, especially when Jemma's sobbing, red faced, looking small and tired.

"You faked your death because of some photos?" she hisses, and her anger is terrifying, scarier than anything that Skye's faced in the last few years, living underground, alone. "You didn't think that I could have handled myself? Skye, I had to find your body. I had to _bury_ you."

Well that's definitely not something that's haunted Skye every single night since she left. Not at all. "I didn't want to find out the hard way that you couldn't handle it yourself," she offers, drawing in on herself. "And it wasn't just the photos—I started receiving threats towards you. Video transmissions and letters and I couldn't—god, Jemma, I couldn't handle it if they'd—if you'd—." She chokes off, dropping her eyes to the floor. Everything she's saying sounds stupid, childish. She was facing unsubstantiated threats towards someone she wasn't even actually dating and to fix it, she faked her death.

Smart.

Skye's managing to keep a lid on her emotions right now, managing not to take over Jemma's moment, but it's getting harder by the second, especially when she looks up to find Jemma looking at her, eyes impossibly, infinitely soft, tender.

"You absolute idiot," she whispers, crossing the space between them quickly. She kisses Skye hard, bruising-three years of grief and anger and love pouring out, and Skye's hands find purchase on her hips, pulling her closer. "You," Jemma murmurs, punctuating her words with a kiss, "ridiculous," kiss, "sweet," kiss, "absolute," kiss, "idiot," _kiss_. When she pulls back, Jemma cradles Skye's face in her hands, leaning up to pepper her face with kisses.

"I take it I'm forgiven?" Skye grins, leaning into Jemma with a little sigh.

Jemma rolls her eyes. Smiles blindingly bright. "Not at all. I have three years of kisses saved up for you, though, so I'm sure we can work something out."

**/**

There were like three things that Leo Fitz could have definitely expected when walking into his best friend's apartment unannounced (crying!Jemma, drunk!Jemma, workaholic!Jemma), and about three other scenarios that he wouldn't have been surprised by—but, uh—

Jemma backed up against the kitchen counter, half dressed, and giggling, being felt up by Skye-who was _definitely_ supposed to be dead?

Fitz drops the take out bags and claps a hand over his eyes. "I—ah—," he stammers, backing away. He bumps into the coat rack-trips, stumbles and readjusts his path until he feels the door handle behind him. "I didn't see anything," he squeaks out, fumbling the door open. "Glad to see you're alive, Skye."

If they say anything in response, he doesn't hear it, already running towards the elevator and trying to figure out the realistic logistics to a thorough brain bleaching.


	9. all hail the underdogs

**"Please stop petting the test subjects. " Skimmons**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**the one with alien animals**

* * *

**...**

* * *

"Skye," Jemma sighs from across the lab. "Please stop petting the test subjects."

Skye doesn't look up from the alien cat she's cuddling. "But they're all so cute," she whines, looking at the small hoard of animals milling around her. "Can we keep one?"

"I don't even know what these creatures are capable of," Jemma tells her, typing up her initial findings and glancing over to find her test subjects crawling over her girlfriend, who seemed absolutely delighted with the prospect. "They might spit acid, for all we know."

"But what a way to go," Skye mumbles, cuddling an alien puppy to her chest.

Jemma levels her with a look—that's not even funny to joke about, really. She huffs out as much, feeling cross.

"Oh, relax," Skye grabs another alien puppy, holding them both to her chest and cooing at them. "They're probably fine, or I'd be acidic by now."

"You're ridiculous."

"So are you. I'm naming this one Thor." She points to an alien animal that resembles a golden retriever.

Jemma rolls her eyes fondly and returns to work.

**/**

They actually are harmless, Jemma discovers twenty minutes later. And then the whining gets ridiculous.

**/**

(they go home with thor, the puppy, who is discovered to be female, and a small cat that took to winding about jemma's ankles. skye never lets her live it down)


	10. school's out, scream and shout

**"oh my god, skimmons + who joins the pta!"**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**the one where skye hates the pta**

* * *

**...**

* * *

"You can make it to the PTA meeting tonight, right?" Jemma asks, rifling through the vegetable drawers in fridge and writing down their grocery list for the week.

Oh, shit. "That's tonight?" Skye tries to keep from groaning, but from the look the Jemma shoots her, she thinks she fails. "I can make it," she assures her, looking up when Ada comes pounding down the stairs.

"Mama," she says, throwing herself onto the bar stool next to Skye. "Can you braid my hair?"

"'Course baby," she takes the hair band out of her daughter's hand before continuing her conversation. "What time is the meeting tonight?"

"Six. The paper's on the note board," she nods her head towards the front door, towards the cork board. "I think it's in the auditorium?"

Skye nods, focusing more on not pulling Ada's hair too hard while she plaits it. "I'll be there," she repeats, already dreading the sheer amount of bullshit she'll have to sit through. It's not that all the parents at Ada's school are stuck up, vaguely conservative assholes, but the majority are. But Ada had already spent most of the summer begging for one of them to join the PTA, complaining about her moms never being one of the parent chaperones when her class went on field trips, and for some godforsaken reason Skye had volunteered for it.

She blames the puppy eyes.

"Okay Adabug," Skye says, tucking in some loose strands. "Mummy and I need to get to work early, so are you okay with Pop Tarts?" Jemma makes a small noise of disapproval, but Ada whips around, grinning and nodding and already looking around for the tell tale box.

**/**

None of the cool parents are here. Gross.

Skye glances around the room once more before she starts to rifle through her purse, looking for her phone. It's literally twelve minutes past six. She has another seventy eight minutes to try to refrain from screaming. Like fuck all this.

She's just tapping out a _save me_ text to Jemma, complete with about twenty knife and skull emojis, when Helen Anderson crawls out of hell and approaches her. Like—honestly. Helen is the absolute worst. While the other terrible parents are just generally suffering from a case of entitlement, Helen is blatantly homophobic and slightly less blatantly racist, but it's still there. And her asshole of a first grader—Leif or Leek or Leyton or something—spouts the same shit to Ada, always making fun of her for being adopted or for having two mothers or for whatever else his mother would rant about. In short—Skye wants to fight Helen Anderson so fucking bad.

"Skye!" Helen says, smiling artificially. "I wasn't expecting to see you here!"

How on earth does she make a greeting sound condescending?

"Yeah!" Skye fakes excitement. "Jemma wanted to be here, but something came up at the lab." Helen's expression sours infinitesimally at the mention of Jemma, making Skye bristle. She tries to remember that she's in an auditorium full of people, and that starting fights with other mothers isn't good manners.

"Oh, yeah, that must be hard," Helen murmurs. "It would explain Ada's behavior problems, with you two always working and all."

Literally what the fuck.

"Behavior problems?" Skye hides her sneer behind her drink, because, first of all, her kid is great, mostly because of Jemma, and secondly, even if Ada had behavior problems, it would not be because of their work schedules, like, they work the same amount as other parents. Jesus christ.

"Well," Helen says, grinning evilly, because the woman is a supervillain, Skye thinks. "As Room Mom, I'm in the classroom a lot, and I've seen Ada get into quite a few arguments with other children, and, you know, I'm trying to be sympathetic—I know that the lack of a strong paternal influence can really alter a child's perspective, but—."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Skye rolls her eyes. The auditorium falls silent. She may have said that louder than she meant to.

Helen looks shocked and offended, which—_good_, but she seems to bounce back from it quickly. "There's no need to swear, Skye—I'm just trying to help—."

"No," she cuts her off, tamping down the urge to throw her drink in Helen's face and seeing if she'd melt. "You're trying to get me to feel ashamed for my marriage. You know you're kind of a bitch, right?" She downs the last of her root beer before she crumples the cup and dumps it, trying really, really hard to not stomp on Helen's toes.

"Honestly, _Skye_," Helen hisses. "You're causing a—."

"Honestly, _Helen_, I'm not sure why you're pointing fingers over behavior problems, when your son has been in twelve mediations? Thirteen?" Skye grins. "And my daughter has been in how many? Zero?" Some douchebag near the back makes and ooh-ing noise, but when it doesn't catch on, he dies down quickly.

There's, like, a long list of things that she could add, including her collection of names for Helen, but the principal is starting to look like she wants to intervene, which is Skye's cue to leave. "Have fun with your divorce proceedings, Helen!" Skye smiles prettily, turning on her heel and walking away purposefully. She pauses by Principal Tanner. "I'm really sorry about that," she offers quietly.

Principal Tanner glances back at Helen, red faced and sputtering, and whispers, "I've literally been hoping that someone would take her down a notch or two since the first time she walked into my office." Skye nods, starts to walk away, but Tanner catches her arm. "However, I'm sorry, Skye, but you can't come back to the PTA."

"Oh my god, that's fine. Can Jemma, though?"

"Oh, yes, of course. She can run for president, if she wants."

Which she totally will.

Skye and Principal Tanner exchange goodbyes, and as Skye walks out of the auditorium, she can hear Helen running up and tattling like the big baby she is.

Once she's in her car, Skye calls Jemma's cell.

"Is the meeting over already?" Skye can hear Ada in the background, giggling and singing loudly.

"I—uh."

Jemma sighs. "Who did you fight?"


	11. a universal experience

**""packs the lunches" and skimmons, please?"**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**...**

* * *

**the one with lunch packing**

* * *

"Alright," Jemma sighs. "You can't just send her sweets." She nudges Skye with her hip, maneuvering her away from the counter so that she can arrange her own additions—tuna on whole wheat, carrot sticks, some other ridiculously healthy things—to the bag carefully.

"She's nine, it's fine," Skye snorts, reaching over her wife to toss in a bag of Lays.

"Doubt you'll be saying that when we're paying for her fillings," Jemma smirks, her tone gentle and her words bearing no real bite. She pokes Skye's side mischievously when she starts to reach for a mini Snickers. "I'm serious!"

"Like that'll ever happen—you make her brush, like, twelve times a day."

Jemma makes a face, swatting Skye away from the bag as she zips it up. "Her lunch is going to be odd enough as it is," she says. She fixes Skye with a look when she starts to reach for the lunch bag again.

"What?" Does she sound offended enough? "We haven't written her note yet."

Softening at that, Jemma turns, grabs the stationary set that Ada gave them for Mother's Day off the next counter and tosses it to Skye. "You first," she breathes, kissing her cheek swiftly. "I'm going to go get the little monster up."

Skye leans back to catch her in a real kiss before she walks away, reveling in the squeak of surprise that Jemma lets out before she responds. "I'll start breakfast?" Skye offers, pulling away.

"Yeah," Jemma nods, grinning as she starts for the stairs. "Just try and keep the M&amp;M's to a minimum?"


	12. and you're the sky

**"Could you do "we were both due to fly home for spring break, but our flight got cancelled due to a freak storm, and now we're roommates at the hotel the airport is putting us up at until this thing clears up" au with Skimmons. Please?"**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**...**

* * *

**the one where they're trapped in an airport hotel**

* * *

Skye's on the verge of tears and it's only mostly for dramatic effect.

"What do you mean 'the flight is cancelled'?" Is she shrieking? She might be shrieking. "It can't be cancelled."

"I'm so sorry, miss," the counter lady offers her a sympathetic smile. "There's a snowstorm blowing in and conditions are dangerous for flight. But the airport's putting you all up in the hotel on the premises—free meals and everything."

Okay. Be cool, Skye.

She's trying, really, she is, it's just that she just really wants to see her parents, but, oh, right, HER PARENTS ARE ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE COUNTRY. Okay. She's cool. She's fine.

She's crying. _Shit_.

"Oh, honey!" the counter lady cries, reaching under her desk and retrieving a Kleenex box, shoving it at Skye in what is probably kind manner, but all Skye feels is sad and on the verge of throwing a legitimate temper tantrum. "It'll just be a few days. Here's all the information you'll need—they're meeting at Gate 6." She hands Skye a packet of papers, obviously trying her polite hardest to get Skye away from the counter, so she takes the hint and shuffles off to the side, trying to pull herself together.

Okay. First things first—she manages to stop crying long enough to dial her mom. And then promptly starts sobbing again when her mom answers. "Honey—," her mom exclaims. "Skye, are you okay? What's wrong?"

"My flight is cancelled," she manages to sniffle out, wiping at her cheeks roughly in a sad attempt to maintain her cool girl aesthetic. "I'm stuck in New York because of some freak blizzard."

Her mom sighs. "Okay. It's not the worst thing in the world." Skye can hear her dad in the background, asking where she is. "I'd much rather you grounded than flying through a storm."

"I just want to sleep in my own bed," Skye whines, looking around. Gate 6 is directly in front of her. Cool.

Her mom laughs. "Your bed will still be here in a few days. Do you need to get a hotel? I can transfer money into your account—."

"Uh—," Skye sniffles again, swiping at her nose. "The airport's putting us up, but I don't know how long this is going to last."

"Okay, sweetheart," her mom murmurs. "Call when you're settled."

Skye runs a hand through her hair roughly, working around the lump in her throat. "I will," she promises, finally. It's been a long few months. She kind of just wants her mommy.

When she hangs up the phone, a crowd has started to gather by Gate 6, and so Skye hikes her bag up higher on her shoulder and drags her suitcase behind on as she tries to not actually stomp over. Some airport official drones on about how sorry they are. A cute girl across the way looks tired, clapping a hand over her mouth as she yawns. Skye kind of focuses on the promise of free food. Whatever gets you through the day, right?

/

"Room four twelve," the airport man says, handing Skye a packet. "You'll have a roommate. There's food tickets in there as well. Next!" She takes that as her cue to move the fuck on.

The cute, tired girl from the gate is waiting for the elevator as well, yawning intermittently. She offers Skye a sleepy smile when she approaches, and Skye asks hopefully, "Four twelve?"

Cute Girl nods, raises her own key packet. Awesome. She doesn't seem all that murderous, so Skye might actually make it home at the end of this. "Spring break?" the girl asks, and yeah, that's an English accent. Wow.

"Yeah," Skye nods. "I'm Skye."

The elevator comes then, doors sliding open. "I'm Jemma," the girl introduces as they shuffle on. "My break just ended."

Skye nods again. They let the conversation die, walking to their room in silence. Skye gets the door, if only because Jemma honestly looks dead on her feet. "Well, roomie," she says, looking around the small room. "What side of the room do you want?" She's answered by a groan. When she looks over, Jemma's face down on the bed nearest the door.

"This is good," she says, muffled by the pillows. "This is so good. Possibly the best."

"You should probably sleep."

All Skye hears is a soft snore.

Cute, goddammit.

**/**

Some time later, Skye's chilling on her bed in sweats, watching cartoons with the volume low. Jemma stirs, rolls onto her side to face Skye. "I must seem ridiculous," she mumbles, rubbing at her eyes. "Passed out as soon as I spotted a horizontal surface."

"S'fine," Skye shrugs. "You avoided witnessing my ugly crying face when I called my parents."

Jemma makes a sympathetic noise. "Do they live very far away?"

"LA."

"Oh, that's awful," Jemma murmurs, face twisting. "What university do you attend?"

"NYU. You?"

Jemma props herself up on her elbows and runs a hand through her tangled hair. Skye tries not to stare too much. Just a little. "Don't think I'm weird," Jemma starts. Skye leans forward. That's always a fun start to a sentence. "I teach at Penn."

"Oh my god," Skye breathes. "How old are you?"

Jemma grimaces. "Twenty two."

Holy shit.

"Okay, _Professor_ Roomie," Skye covers her surprise. "How about we get some dinner. I'll buy." She raises her food vouchers. Does she sound smooth? She wasn't aware that professors were A Thing for her, but maybe it was just Jemma?

Jemma grins, nods. Obviously Skye seems sort of smooth. Smooth enough to not sound creepy or freaked out or like the hormonal teenager she definitely is at heart.

**/**

So—apparently the hotel's restaurant closes at ten. And it's currently 11:03pm.

Skye and Jemma stand shoulder to shoulder as they stare at the glaringly obvious closed sign.

"I think I saw a room service menu in the room," Skye whispers, as if letting her in on some top secret information.

"Do you think they'll accept the vouchers?" Jemma whispers back. The lobby is empty—the moment seems somber. Probably the lack of food.

Skye thinks for a moment. "Well," she says finally. "If they don't, I'm constantly on the edge of a breakdown, so…"

Jemma smirks, nudges Skye's arm with her elbow. "Keep that in your back pocket."

**/**

"Oh, _god_," Jemma breathes. "I'm breaking American laws."

Skye laughs into her champagne. "I think it's fine. I'm not a cop, I promise."

Jemma eyes her warily, breaking out into a grin. God, okay. She's literally so pretty. Just so fucking pretty. Skye might be a little tipsy. But that's cool, because it's two am and Jemma's tipsy too, which Skye knows because at one point Jemma bounced up and tried to join Skye on her bed, only to stumble and have to grab for the nightstand between their beds, laughing the entire time.

This is the best sleepover Skye's ever had with a near stranger. Possibly the best sleepover she's ever had, period. Jemma's really funny and sweet and impossibly, ridiculously smart and Skye doesn't think she's ever fallen so hard for someone in her entire life. Miles included.

Gross. Emotions.

Jemma's sprawled at one end of Skye's bed, hair hanging off the edge, and Skye bounces over, flopping next to her. "This is fun," she says suddenly.

"Very," Jemma agrees. "I never got to do this sort of stuff as a kid."

Skye gasps. "What?" She places a hand to her heart. Dramatic enough? "You never got drunk on mediocre booze in a hotel at an airport before?"

"Oh shut up," Jemma makes a face, smacking Skye lightly on the hip. "I was the weird genius girl. My only friend was the weird genius boy. I didn't have a lot of these sort of sleepovers."

"Well," Skye rolls onto her stomach, tilting her head to look at Jemma. "If it makes you feel any better, neither did I."

She doesn't elaborate. Jemma doesn't ask her too. Skye thinks she's a little in love.

**/**

When Skye wakes, there's an arm thrown over her waist and a leg slipped between hers. For a moment, she thinks she's in her dorm, and is about to yell at Darcy to just buy a pillow to cuddle because this is ridiculous, but then she glances over her shoulder and yeah, no, not Darcy.

Jemma stirs briefly, scrunching her nose when Skye shifts.

Holy shit.

Holy _shit_.

Okay. Be cool. _Be the cool girl you were born to be_. Skye turns back and squints at the empty bottle of champagne. Fuck mediocre booze. But also don't, because Jemma is a comforting weight, her warm breath fanning over Skye's neck in an easy, rhythmic cycle.

But Skye kind of needs to know if they slept together and if that's going to make the next few days weird.

"Uh—," Skye tries to wake Jemma gently, playing with her fingers. "Jemma?"

The other woman stirs, mumbles something under her breath, sleepy still.

"Jemma," Skye repeats. She glances over her shoulder again and repeats again. "Jem."

Jemma's eyes slide open, hazy and unfocused at first. When they clear, there's panic there. "Oh lord," she breathes, staring at Skye. She rolls away quickly, putting distance between the two, and Skye uses her new found freedom to figure out if she's still wearing underwear.

She is, by the way.

"Did we—?" Jemma gestures between them, eyes wide.

"I don't think so," Skye breathes. "But I think we made out a bit?"

Jemma nods. "I remember that."

This is the weirdest conversation ever. Skye shakes her head. They didn't drink enough to induce a major hangover, she thinks, which is good because Jemma's somehow cute in the morning and Skye doesn't really want to be puking in front of her.

"Was the—are you—?" Jemma's eyebrows are nearly at her hairline, her concern obvious in her face.

"I mean—," Skye stammers. "I liked it."

"Oh, thank god," Jemma huffs. "I did too."

Literally the weirdest.

But, honestly, like—Skye's pretty sure that they've already passed through the regular 'getting to know you' phase that most relationships endure, like—neither of them have pants on. Jemma's shirt is unbuttoned, and Skye's shirt is on the chair in the corner. They're cool. It's cool.

"Uh—." Skye bites her lip. Jemma visibly gulps. Nice. "I mean—I was probably going to ask for you number before I got on my plane."

Jemma nods. "We just sped up the time table a bit."

Yeah. Maybe a lot of bit. Whatever. Jemma's sweet, nice. They've got about three days to figure this out. Skye grins at her. "Breakfast?"

**/**

It's late, nearly midnight, and Skye and Jemma are still in their wedding dresses. They'd gone to the airport right after the wedding—spent most of the flight thanking people for their congratulations and giggling into kisses, fingers twined between them.

Now, they stumble into the hotel, dragging their luggage behind them. "Oh, jesus," Skye breathes, stumbling to a halt beside her wife. "This place has literally not changed."

"I kind of like it," Jemma hums, slipping her arm around Skye's waist, tucking herself closer. "Nostalgia, you know."

"You're such a sap."

"A sap that you married."

Skye grins at that. They're married. They're _married_.

"The restaurant's not going to be open," she says quietly, walking in time with Jemma to the front desk.

Jemma glances at her from out of the corner of her eye, lips quirking up. "Oh," she says, biting her lip. "I'm sure we'll figure something out."


	13. an instantaneous connection

**"Skimmons + "you just gave me the password to your hotspot, we are now best friends" au"**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**the one where skye really wants a strong wifi connection**

* * *

**...**

* * *

Skye's been lowkey trying to hack into the hotspot listed on her WiFi read out since her flight got delayed an hour and a half ago. Like—she could get by with crappy airport WiFi, but where's the fun in that? She's sure the owner of the hotspot won't mind.

"Ehm—are you trying to hack me?" a very sweet, very polite British voice says from behind Skye.

Maybe the hotspot owner minds.

She slams her laptop shut. "What?" she laughs, running a hand through her hair and turning. "Of course not."

A girl, probably a little shorter than herself, stands before her, lips quirked up in amusement. Her shirt has a little design of what Skye thinks is something science related, if only from the lab coat the character—atom?—is wearing.

"Oh," she sighs. "Shit."

"You," the girl laughs, "obviously need the Internet. D'ya have a pen?" The girl is very pretty, her eyes wide and bright, and her hair curling around her shoulders, and Skye fumbles for a pen that she definitely has. She offers it to the girl, their fingers brushing when she takes it.

She can't just let this be it. This is the type of story you hear about from old people, complaining that they'd lost their soulmate simply because they were too chicken to say anything.

The girl scribbles something down on the bottom of a receipt she's fished out of her pocket. "Here's the password," she murmurs, smiling, handing the paper over to Skye. "Enjoy."

The girl starts to walk away, back to her seat across the walkway, in the gate opposite Skye's. "You're kind of my new best friend," Skye calls after her.

"Hopefully more!," the girl throws back, grinning over her shoulder.

Skye glances down. Flips the receipt over.

There are numbers. Holy shit, there are numbers, followed by a note, in pretty, neat script.

_Jemma Simmons_

_Call me when you get where you're going_

Skye looks up to find Jemma Simmons smiling apprehensively at her from across the way. She smiles back. Closes her laptop.


	14. this heart's been sleeping for months

**"skimmons and "I just really need to have you here right now.""**

**sort of a normal au? no shield, no inhumans. just two girls, falling in love and running out on it**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**...**

* * *

Technically, Skye's drunk.

Technically, this is a drunk dial.

Technically, she and Jemma have been broken up for nearly three months and this shouldn't at all be happening right now, but Skye's heart hasn't stopped aching since that final fight, since the A-bomb that detonated between them.

She should have listened to Trip. And listened less to Grant. And she shouldn't have drunk what Bobbi recommended.

"Hey, J'mema," Skye mumbles, rolling onto her side. "I think I fucked this up."

The heater hums as it kicks on. Jemma used to hum back sarcastically. Maybe Skye should hang up?

She sighs. "I think it's like three am. I haven't slept in a few days, I guess." Oh god. She's tearing up. In her inebriated state, Skye can't really stop it.

"It's hard, Jem," she forces out. "I was dumb and thought that it wouldn't be but—." She sniffles.

"But it's really hard. And I—." Skye drags a tired hand down her face. She feels about a million years old. She feels small and weak and regretful. "I just really need to have you here right now. And always. This isn't a booty call. This is an I love you and I am realizing that you're my soulmate and that I fucked up majorly call."

Do voicemails have a limit? Skye's probably about to hit it. "I guess I'm just trying to say that I love you. And I want you to come home. Or I want to come home. We hadn't picked an apartment yet, had we? God—Jemma—."

_Beeeeeeeep_

Cool. Okay.

Skye drops the phone beside her on the bed, where Jemma's shoulder would be, if she were here. Skye can nearly picture her, rolling her eyes and telling Skye to get the Advil out before she goes to bed.

God, this is the saddest. She's the saddest. Jemma's probably sleeping fine. She rolls onto her back, tries to starfish out in the center of the bed before the guilt hits her and she returns to her side.

Day 98 without Jemma.

She'll get through it, right?

Pulling the covers over her shoulder, Skye closes her eyes and hopes.

**/**

Across town, Jemma stares down at her phone.

The message twists her heart, her mouth. Leaves a bitter taste behind.

Skye sounds tired. Sad. A little too much like how Jemma has been feeling since they imploded.

_"And I—I just really need you here right now. And always."_

Jemma drags her thumb back a few seconds. Listens again.

This can't be healthy. Pining gets you nowhere.

She stops the message; opens up Skye's contact, never deleted, and her smiling face makes Jemma feel an ache in her chest that she has no name for.

A drunk Skye is a tired Skye. She'll be asleep by now. Jemma drops the phone onto the pillow next to her (Skye's pillow, silly as it is to call it that—Skye hasn't slept on it in months). She'll call in the morning.


	15. the way that we rust

**"please come get me" + skimmons"**

**idk where this fits into the show's timeline don't question it shhhhhh**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**...**

* * *

"_Please come get me._"

It's nearly three am, and Skye's been gone for days. It's been awful, the waiting—hoping that she'll call or video chat or something to prove that she isn't dead in a ditch. Jemma refuses to admit to it, but she's spent more time pacing in the lab, worrying, than she has actually doing anything.

But now.

Now Jemma's phone is cradled between her ear and her shoulder and she's stumbling out into the hallway, making steady headway towards May's bunk. "Where are you? What's—Skye it's been _days_."

"_I know_," Skye whispers. Jemma hears a horn blare in the background. "_I know. I'm sorry_."

If she weren't so relieved to hear Skye's voice, Jemma thinks she would be angry. Sorry is weak. Sorry is a cop out. Sorry means nothing when she's been left here, hoping that this won't be the day she hears that the woman she loves is dead in some Hydra kidnapping gone wrong.

But she is relieved. There's no denying that.

"Love," Jemma breathes, letting the name slip past her lips. "Are you okay?"

There's silence. Jemma worries that she's pushed too far, said too much; shown her cards when she's not entirely sure that Skye's even playing. They've been doing this _thing_ for only a few weeks, but Jemma thinks she's been in love with the other woman since long before. She pauses in front of May's door, leans her forehead on the wall and tries to not worry.

"_I'm a little drunk_," Skye answers, finally. "_And it's making me realize that I didn't actually need a road trip of self discovery._"

Jemma relaxes slightly. It feels like Skye has more to say, but for now, that answer is enough to soothe her.

Skye coughs, and Jemma hears her suck in a deep breath. Jemma thinks that she can nearly smell the smoke, though she knows that, logically, that's impossible.

"_I want to come home_." Skye sounds old, tired. "_I belong there, with the team_." Jemma starts to agree, but Skye adds, "_I belong there with you._"

Okay.

Whatever they are—whatever they have—it will be damn hard to sustain in this line of work. Jemma closes her eyes, sees flashes of all the times one or the other of them nearly died, sees Skye bleeding out on a dirt floor, her blood coating Jemma's hands. Sees the softness in Skye's eyes when she'd woken to find Jemma, awake at her bedside. Sees the way Skye'd looked when she'd seen Jemma for the first time after her jump.

"I'm getting May," Jemma promises her, reaching out to knock on the older woman's door. "Get somewhere that's warm, while you wait, yeah?"


	16. love is all from what i've heard

**"skimmons + "look at me-just breathe, okay?""**

**just letting you know that im evil but not super evil**

**cw: gun mention**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**...**

* * *

The Hydra goon holding Skye tightens his grip when she tenses, hissing, "If you even think about shaking, a bullet's going to go through her pretty little head."

Jemma doesn't look scared, even as the woman holding her presses the gun against her temple. Skye feels a flare of pride, of terror when she sees her set her jaw, hands in fists at her sides.

There's a needle prick in the side of her neck. Skye's muscles tense, then relax, her vision going hazy at the edges. "No," she slurs. "I was complying."

"You're enhanced," the man purrs. "Too dangerous. Might want to say goodbye before you're completely out of it."

God—she can't even properly see Jemma, her face blurred and unfocused. "Skye—," Jemma says. "Skye, just breathe—."

The woman pulls the trigger.

**/**

"Skye!"

Eyes snapping open, Skye realizes that she's screaming, shaking, tangled in her covers. The clock on the side table rattles ominously, the walls groaning as they tremor.

Jemma leans over her, propped up on one elbow and worry etched onto her face, and she smooths back some stray hairs from Skye's face carefully, her hands cool on Skye's forehead.

Skye can't make eye contact; can't see her face without remembering how her blood splattered across the wall. God—she can't breathe.

"Skye," Jemma murmurs softly, firmly. "Look at me—just breathe, okay? I need you to breathe."

Breathing should be easy. Skye takes a shuddering breath, rolling onto her side to face Jemma, who reaches out to settle her arm around Skye's waist.

She takes another breath. And another.

The shaking stops, the building no worse for the wear. Jemma relaxes, laying back down, eyes soft. "What did you see?" she whispers, stretching her leg out to nudge Skye's ankle with her toes.

Just thinking about it makes Skye want to vomit. But it's always better if she talks about it—the nightmares.

"Hydra killed you," she forces out, shifting closer to Jemma. "I couldn't do anything to save you."

The other woman nods, stoic. "But I'm not dead," Jemma breathes finally. "I'm here, with you."

Skye nods.

"I'm not going anywhere," Jemma promises, moving closer and tangling her legs with Skye's. She reaches over, tucks a stray lock of hair behind Skye's ear. "You're kind of stuck with me."

Maybe Skye will laugh at that later. Now, she lets Jemma pull her closer, pressing her ear to her chest, hearing her heartbeat, strong and steady.

Sleep doesn't come easily. But when it does, it's dreamless.


	17. maybe it's the way she walked

**"I saw you trying to hit the "door close" button in the elevator but I made it in and then I pushed every single button to make you later for work, but now we're stuck in this fucking elevator as it stops at every single floor and I don't know what to say other than "you started it" AU skimmons omg"**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**...**

* * *

There's not a lot of people that Jemma Simmons dislikes on sight. But the tech support girl from three floors up? She dislikes her.

It's not really anything against her, really. It's just that Jemma holds herself and her colleagues to a certain standard and the tech girl seems to…not.

She must sound awful.

It's just that the tech girl—Skye?—she's rarely on time, and Jemma knows this, because when she's on her break, Skye's running into the building, looking tired and rushed and probably a little over-caffeinated. And while her work is always good—or so Jemma assumes as their network is always fast and her computer, when it glitches, is fixed the next morning—Jemma's heard Ward grumbling about how tech never fixes anything on time.

It's perfectly reasonable rationale.

And it has nothing to do with the fact that the one time Jemma interacted with her, the girl smiled and Jemma managed to drop all of her files and her tea.

It's awful.

She's awful.

So—if one day she sees Skye running into the building, just as Jemma's getting into the elevator, no one can really blame her for hitting the _door close_ button as many times as she can.

What can she say?

It's been a long week already.

**/**

Skye's a little late.

Like, only thirteen minutes late. And it's mostly because her van started making weird noises about five minutes out, and Skye knows that it's safer just to pull over and let Henny work it out, so that's what she did.

Which brought her right into a freak traffic rush.

Which leads her to running into work, praying that the bun she threw her hair into doesn't come undone because she took a shower like seventeen minutes ago and her wet hair is kind of a whip and kind of dangerous.

When she swings into the building, slowing to a jog, there's an elevator open, and there's only one person in it—

of course, that person is Jemma Simmons, the really cute scientist that works three floors down that Skye thinks hates her a little.

Which sucks because Skye has a tiny little crush on her.

That crush, however, gets shoved by the wayside when she sees Jemma slamming the 'door close' button.

Skye breaks into a dead sprint, mostly out of spite, a tiny bit out of desperation, because there's only so long Coulson can be nice about her tardiness.

The doors are nearly closed and Skye risks losing her hand in the process of stopping them, but the doors slide open and Skye smirks triumphantly at the look of disappointment that crosses the scientist's face.

Jemma's level is already pressed. Skye leans over and presses her floor. And then all of the floors beneath it.

Mostly out of spite.

When she leans back, Jemma's staring at her, shock obvious. "Honestly—," she hisses out in disgust, sipping her probably ridiculously fancy coffee drink meanly. "You're such a child."

The doors slide open on the first floor. Skye shrugs, smiles. "You started it."

**/**

Skye realizes very quickly that this was a terrible idea. When the doors slide open on the tenth floor and Skye feels Jemma's eyes boring into her, she feels the shame.

This was a terrible, terrible idea.

Why did she think this was a cool idea?

The doors close. The elevator moves along, dinging when it reaches the eleventh floor.

Only twenty one more to go.

"So—uh—," Skye stammers, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm not usually vindictive."

"Really?" Jemma sneers, adjusting the files in her arms, shifting the weight to rest against her hip. "That's a surprise."

Skye gapes at her. "You were literally trying to close the doors on me!"

"It's not my fault you're running late!"

There's about ten really terrible things that Skye can say in response, but Jemma's blushing, she thinks, a light pink staining her cheeks and she won't make eye contact and it's kind of the cutest thing ever?

So—

"Well, it's not my fault you're a stick in the mud," Skye mutters.

"I can be fun!"

"Prove it."

They've passed thirteen more floors in their interaction. The doors slide open to the fourteenth in the silence.

They remain in silence, and Skye thinks that maybe Jemma just actually hates her and that the blushing was just anger induced? In which case, she must seem like a colossal asshole.

The time and the silence stretches on. Skye checks her email nervously, fiddling with the edge of her phone case that's starting to rip. How many more floors?

Right.

A lot.

Finally, they reach Jemma's floor. The scientists straightens and huffs self righteously, stepping towards the door. She's halfway gone, the doors sliding shut behind her and Skye kicking herself as they do, when suddenly Jemma whirls around and stops the elevator door with her foot.

"Royal Pub, tomorrow night at seven," she tells Skye, smiling slightly, the blush back in her cheeks. "We'll see who's the stick in the mud."

As soon as she's finished her sentence, Jemma turns, marching away purposefully and leaving Skye in a stunned silence, staring after her long after the doors have slid shut once more.

Holy shit.

Holy _shit_.

**/**

So maybe dislike was mistaken for intense attraction with very little chance of interaction.

Jemma ignores Fitz and Bobbi's teasing as she heads to her section of the lab, smiling wide and trying not to replay Skye's shocked face over in her mind.

When she looks up after setting her things down, Fitz is grinning at her like a moron. "Oh, shut up," she mumbles, blushing. "She started it."


	18. keep making me weak

**"I take my grades very seriously and you're the lazy asshole who asks a ton of off-topic questions to distract the professor and I might be a foot shorter than you but I swear to god I'll fight you AU + skimmons please! :)"**

**WE DESERVE FLUFF AFTER THAT FINALE**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**...**

* * *

Jemma's not one for fighting, but she's willing and able to fight the girl that sits in the back row of her lecture and asks ridiculously off topic questions.

Completely willing.

Because unlike _some_ people, Jemma actually cares about her grades, and the off topic wandering that the professor would commence on once the girl asked her asinine questions would take up most of the class period and Jemma had very few relevant notes, though, god help her, she took notes on everything that Professor Coulson said.

So—Fitz has tried to talk her out of this.

But Fitz isn't here right now, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

Jemma's settled outside the lecture hall, sitting on the ground, legs stretched out in front of her and crossed neatly. The girl always shows up late for this class, Jemma knows, from the amount of times she's heard the large oak doors creaking open, fifteen minutes after the lecture's begun.

And, like clockwork, the girl walks up slowly, extremely large coffee cup in one hand and phone in the other, her eyes never leaving the screen.

"You," Jemma hisses, scrambling to her feet.

"Me?" the girl raises her eyebrows, looking up finally, and Jemma thinks that she recognizes her, from the way that her lips quirk up around the edge of the cup as she takes a sip.

"Yes, you," Jemma frowns, planting her hands on her hips. "You're the one that always leads the class astray."

The girl takes another unimpressed sip. Jemma glances down and realizes that the reason that she's being forced to look up is because of the girl's actually very cute but very high wedge boots.

"Take those off," she demands, gesturing to the girl's feet. "You're too tall."

The girl looks down. "My shoes?" She looks up again, eyes bright with amusement. Jemma's heart flutters a little and she struggles to remain righteously angry.

Jemma huffs, "You're extremely tall compared to me right now and it's making it rather hard for me to fight you in defense of my grades." The girl breaks out into a grin and Jemma loses her train of thought for a moment.

"Okay," the girl folds. "Hold this for a sec?" She holds out her coffee cup and Jemma takes it carefully, watching in near shock as the girl toes off her shoes, shrinking several inches. She's actually not that much taller than Jemma at all. "Better?"

She's really very attractive. Jemma's not sure how's she managed to never see her around campus before.

"I—," Jemma starts, losing her train of thought when the girl flicks her hair back, catching the light. The girl cocks her head. Jemma remembers that she's supposed to be angry, and in response, she shoves the coffee back into the girl's hands. "It's extremely—it's rude, really! And disrespectful and some of us care about our grades—."

"You're Jemma Simmons, right?" the girl interrupts, unfazed by Jemma's speech. Jemma nods shortly. "You're friends with Bobbi?" She nods again. The girl grins again, wide and bright. "I'm Skye, her roommate," she introduces. "And I'm sorry that I'm throwing off your groove."

Jemma's anger fades quickly. She's heard about Skye before, yes—Bobbi's mentioned her quite a bit, but Jemma'd never had the chance to meet her yet. And now—now she must sound awful. "Ah—," Jemma stutters, crossing her arms nervously. "I'm sorry about my outburst."

"No!" Skye rushes to say. "It's my fault, honestly. I really am kind of disrespectful in class and I'm really sorry about that—."

"Oh, no, I just overreacted—we're still covering all the course material—."

They both stop speaking, looking at one another for a long moment before Jemma starts to giggle. Skye joins her soon after, and Jemma manages to say, "This is ridiculous."

"Yeah," Skye agrees. "This isn't exactly how I planned on meeting you."

That is…not the sentence that Jemma expected.

"Really? Why's that?"

"I—uh." It's kind of adorable to see Skye's cheeks pink. She twists a lock of her hair, nervous, and Jemma's heart pumps out a double beat. "I've—uh—been sort of trying to work up the nerve to ask you out."

Jemma stares. Honestly, she really can't help it. This wasn't at all where she thought this conversation would go when she began it, but she can't help but be pleased with the outcome.

"Well ask," she finds herself saying, arms coming to rest at her sides, hands open. She smiles when Skye looks up, surprised. "You can't very well know the answer if you never even try."

Skye grins again. Jemma thinks she could get used to that.

"Do you—?"

"Yes."

**/**

(so maybe she didn't get what she was expecting out of the confrontation. weeks later, with skye falling asleep against her, jemma thinks that irrelevant notes are a worthy sacrifice)


	19. how you get the girl

**"skimmons + 46"**

**nanny/single parent au**

**aka: the life and times of daisy johnson, a tired single mother whose nanny is probably a little more attractive than she can necessarily handle but it's FINE it's COOL she's completely OKAY at dealing with her FEELINGS, and jemma simmons, the nanny that has a ridiculous crush on her boss which is one hundred percent inappropriate right? ft. ellie johnson, the adorable kid that's bringing them together**

**disclaimed**

* * *

**...**

* * *

"You 'nd Jemma should kiss," Ellie tells Daisy one day without so much as looking up from her coloring.

Unsurprisingly, Daisy chokes on her coffee.

"Wha–," she sputters, grabbing a kitchen towel and wiping at the growing stain on her shirt. "What, baby?" There's, like, no way she heard that right, right?

"Well," Ellie sighs, switching crayons. "Charlie's mommies kiss 'nd he told me that kids can have two mommies or two daddies or even _three_ parents."

Okay. Okay, that's easier to deal with. Her kid just doesn't grasp Jemma's role in her life. That's–that's manageable, yeah?

"Ellie, sweetie, you know Jemma isn't your mommy, right? She's someone who loves you and takes care of you, but–."

Ellie aims a perfect eye roll in her direction, and if Daisy weren't so stunned she'd be incredibly impressed. "I was getting there, Mama," she says with a long suffering air. Continuing, she says, "Sienna's daddy liked her nanny a lot, so he kisses her now and now her nanny is another mommy. So I think you 'nd Jemma should kiss."

Daisy manages to push past the shock and marvels at her kid's gossiping tendencies for a moment, thoroughly impressed. But this is still–this is something she needs to deal with.

How is she supposed to explain this, though? How does she tell her pre-schooler that yeah, she'd love to kiss her nanny, but Jemma doesn't feel the same way and trying anything like that could ruin a great thing for Ellie–because Jemma is a great thing for Ellie, really. She's so kind and gentle with her and Daisy can't imagine doing this without Jemma around to help–she came on with them when Ellie was a newborn and SHIELD had just launched and she's been a fixture in their lives ever since.

How on earth is she supposed to tell her daughter that she wants to, but she's scared?

"Besides," Ellie says breezily. "Jemma likes you, too."

She should probably just put the coffee down, really, if this is where her kid insists on steering the conversation. After doing just that, Daisy joins Ellie at the kitchen counter and asks as casually as she can manage, "How'd you know that, hm?"

Ellie kicks her legs idly, bouncing the backs of her heels off the legs of the stool. Switching crayons, she answers after a beat, "She makes googly eyes at you when you're not lookin'."

Daisy is saved from actually, you know, processing that information by Jemma bustling in. "Good morning!" she chirps, pausing on her way to the living room to ruffle Ellie's hair. "Good morning Daisy," she says softly, brushing her shoulder. There's a moment between them, Daisy thinks. Or maybe imagines it. Which is—

uh.

That's when Ellie chimes in.

"I guess she makes googly eyes at you when you are lookin' sometimes," she adds innocently enough.

"What?" Jemma asks. Daisy heavily considers the pros of just grabbing her daughter and establishing new lives for them in some far off locale, but then it dawns on Jemma what they were talking about and her cheeks turn this adorable shade of pink and Daisy thinks that maybe she can handle ten minutes of awful, awful embarrassment.

Ellie shimmies off the stool, batting away both Jemma and Daisy's worried hands and she instead tells Jemma, "I was tellin' Mommy that you two should kiss. But I guess you should talk 'nd stuff first." She pushes Jemma towards her recently vacated seat with as much force as a five year old can muster (which is…a surprising amount of force, Daisy knows) and gathers up her crayons and construction paper. "I'm gonna color in the living room," she informs them, walking away purposefully. She pauses to throw A Look over her shoulder and further insists, "Talk," before exiting.

It's the most ridiculous things, really, and Daisy can't help but start to laugh—is it because she's nervous and utterly embarrassed? Probably, but at least it's obvious that Jemma feels the same, as she joins in the same nervous giggles.

"Sorry my child is a master of persuasion," Daisy says quietly, mindful that the wall between the living room and the kitchen is a thin one at best. "She's got it in her head that we should be together."

Jemma nods quickly, adding, "Well you know what they say about kids."

"They do say the darnedest things."

They stand in silence for a few moments, both aggressively avoiding eye contact. Daisy's not sure how to recover from this? If there is even a way to recover from it? Jemma's probably going to want to quit her job.

"So—," Daisy starts, hoping that if she addresses this in some sideways kind of way, they can avoid ever talking about it again. Jemma says at the same time, "I don't mean—." They both stop. This could probably go on for years, if they let it. Instead of facing the next five or so years of this, Daisy says, "You go first."

"Ah—," Jemma stammers, blush creeping down her neck. "Well. I don't—I don't mean to overstep, in any way. And please, please tell me if I do." She pauses at the shuffling that comes from the living room. After a beat, she continues. "Ellie's not wrong. About me, that is."

Daisy's jaw is probably on the floor. She's not particularly registering much other than the fact that she's so incredibly glad she put her coffee down a while ago and, _oh_, utter elation.

She should maybe chill.

She realizes then that Jemma's still talking, in that adorable rambling way that she does when she gets too nervous. "—entirely inappropriate, I know, but I feel that keeping quiet is lying by omission, especially in light of Ellie's observations and—."

"So you have been making googly eyes at me?" Daisy asks, reveling in the absurdity of her words as well as the meaning they carry.

Jemma snorts, hiding her face in her hands. "If you insist on calling it that, then I suppose." She sucks in a deep breath and then adds, "I'm so sorry if this changes things."

Which sort of feels like a closed door. Or a closing one. So Daisy says brusquely, "Jemma, you're entirely overqualified for a nanny position. You should accept the job at The Academy."

"How—?" Jemma asks, face crumpling, so Daisy rushes to finish her thought.

"SHIELD owns it, sort of. In a tangential sort of way. Really, we're just the holding company, but it's symbiotic, you know?" Alright, so she's going completely off track. "_Anyway_. Ellie's in school now, so having a multiple doctorate holding nanny is—well. Unnecessary."

Jemma's eyes glint when she catches on. "Very unnecessary. Superfluous, even."

"Exactly! I think our professional relationship has reached its timely end." Daisy offers her hand and when Jemma goes in to shake it, Daisy reels her in gently until they're nose to nose. "And when one professional door closes, another more personal window opens," she breathes, reveling in the exasperated laugh that it draws from Jemma's lips.

"I doubt that's how the saying goes," Jemma whispers, her breath warm and sweet.

Daisy leans a little closer, can almost taste her. "I think it needs a little revamp then. Make it more era appropriate."

When they kiss, it's almost an afterthought. They're basking in the shared epiphany and in their own giddy joy, and so it catches Daisy off guard when suddenly their lips meet. Jemma relaxes into it first and Daisy takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, settling one hand on Jemma's hip and the other tangling in her hair. Jemma lets out a soft little gasp as Daisy licks into her mouth, sending a shiver up the other woman's spine.

And then from the other room, Ellie loudly asks, "Are you two kissing?"

Daisy and Jemma spring apart, giggling like teenagers caught making out in a library. "Just talking," Daisy calls back before turning her eyes back to Jemma. She grins cheekily, lips kiss swollen and Daisy feels a rush of pride at being the cause of such a reaction.

"So," Jemma breathes after a moment. "As my non-employer, would you like to go out with me?"

Daisy opens her mouth to answer, a yes already on her lips when—

"Mama says yes!" Ellie shouts, suddenly in the doorway. "Here," she says, sidling into the kitchen and offering her newest piece of art shyly. "I drew what you should wear."

Daisy catches a glance before Ellie's handed it off to Jemma for inspection and appropriate _oohing_ and _ahhing_. She's not entirely sure where to find a red rectangle in time for their date, but she's sure she can work something out.


End file.
